Idol Behavior
by ashlex in wonderland
Summary: America knew nothing about them, except that they shared a common goal: to become the next American Idol. America knew nothing about what they went through when the cameras were turned off...
1. Prologue: Auditions

**Disclaimer:** We don't own shit. There are things you may think we own, but chances are we don't.

**A Note From The Authors:** **ashlex in wonderland** is a compilation of two of the earlier authors in the _Newsies _fandom, **Alexandra Paige** and **Sita-Chan**. Some (or most) of you may not remember us, as real life had fought with and taken over our _Newsies _addiction long ago.

We were, however, recently brought together again by an idea, a vision if you will, to take your average, everyday 1899 newsboys and place them in the recent phenomenon that has taken this nation by storm: _American Idol_.

Anyway, we spent longer thinking of a title and summary for this sucker than we did writing it, so we'd really appreciate it you reviewed. It's good, we promise.

No seriously, review. All the cool kids are doing it.

* * *

**Idol Behavior**

**Sarah Jacobs**  
_Los Angeles__California_

When you really take the time to think about it, David made this  
happen. After all, he's the one who wanted to audition for American Idol. He's the one who refused to go alone. He's the one who begged me to come with him.

And I'm the one who agreed. What else are big sisters for? Besides,  
I didn't have much else to do.

So I drove with David to the auditions, sat with him while he hyperventilated, located his inhaler before he asphyxiated, and so on and so forth. I was just there for moral support, to be the compassionate sister. I never really thought about auditioning myself. But then I started to think, really think. I do love to sing, almost as much as David. But unlike my little brother, I tend to keep it to myself. I tend to keep quiet about most of the things that I want and the things that I like so that I can help David and Les do whatever it is that they want. I learned a long time ago that, since I'm the oldest, my parents expect me to make sacrifices. I also learned that whining about it and always asking "what about me" wouldn't do anything except irritate everyone.

But I just happened to be sitting in the middle of the Los Angeles American Idol auditions. There was no reason why I shouldn't audition, just for fun, right? There was no reason why, just for once, I could think about myself. I would never put myself before my brothers, but every now and then, I could put myself on the same level.

When I told David that I wanted to audition, though, he threw a miniature temper tantrum. And, really, I felt a little bit pissed. I give up a lot of things for him without ever expecting anything in return, and the one time that I want to do something for me, he acts like I'm trying to steal his limelight.

He's an ungrateful little prick, now that I think about it. I still love him, but he really is an ungrateful prick. I could have tutored some freshmen and made some money instead of carting his ass around for an hour to help him get to a competition that he's never going to win. Does he think our parents would have done that willingly? No way. If it wasn't for me, he'd be here alone, like that poor guy in the cowboy hat who keeps walking around, trying to look like he's some kind of badass. David should be thanking me for even being here with him.

And I'm auditioning whether he likes it or not.

-

**Kiora**** Lenster**  
_American Fork, Utah_

I didn't make it through! How the hell did I not make it through!

I'm just too unique for them. Almost everyone else is in their cute little preppy skirts and polo shirts and stuff like that. Me, I walk in wearing my Napoleon Dynamite shirt and that pair of jeans I wrote all over. Hey, I wanted to be unique. I wanted to show them that I was no clone, and I was definitely the only person like me there. Good. First mission, accomplished. Second mission, sing a unique song, watch the judges worship me, and head on over to Hollywood.

That part didn't go as well as I wanted it to.

I sang "Your Eyes" from RENT. I breezed past the producers, which I knew I would, and finally headed into the judges' room.

They cut me! I've never been cut at an audition in my life, but they cut me before I even got to the second verse! And Simon told me that I was basically tone deaf.

Excuse me! I think not. I've had the lead in all of my school plays, and most of those are musicals. So I know I'm good, and I don't need the opinion of a wanna-be, a has-been, and a never-will-be to tell me that. Come on, tone deaf! Simon doesn't even know what tone deaf is. Has anyone ever heard him sing? No. He probably can't. So how does he have the right to tell me that I'm tone deaf when no one's ever heard him sing? That fucking hypocrite. He can take his stupid moron opinion and shove it up his big, fat, stupid ass!

Whatever. I didn't really want to do this anyway. Only morons with no real singing experience sing pop music. I'm going back to musical theater, where the music is good and legit and people respect talent when they see it.

I drove from American Fork, Utah! Do you know how fucking far that is! That is a ten hour drive! Ten fucking hours! And now I have to drive all the way back and tell my friends what happened. Do they know how embarrassing that's going to be?

But, whatever. If they want some stupid clone to be the next American Idol, fine, what do I care? This is a stupid contest anyway. I'm too good to be wasting my time with this crap music.

They'll be sorry. In a few years, when I'm the biggest star to ever hit Broadway, they'll remember the name "Kiora Lenster," and they'll wish that they'd snagged me first. They'll even come to track me down and beg me to sign a contract with them. And I'll just laugh and tell them all that they're tone deaf.

Yeah. That's gonna be awesome.

-

**Adrian Valdez**

_Sacramento, California_

I love my Mama. She expects a lot, but she knows what's best for me and I trust her. She's usually right.

When I was eight, she told me that I could sing like an angel, that it was a gift from God, and that she wouldn't let me waste it. She signed me up for children's choirs, voice lessons, musicals… anything where I'd be able to refine my voice. Mama had big plans for me.

She's the reason I'm here today. The thought of auditioning for American Idol had never even crossed my mind before Mama told me that it was my chance to become known. I'd never even watched the show, but Mama was obsessed. She said that I would be perfect for it, and I believed her; Mama would never lie to me.

I was scared, though. I may have never watched the show, but you would have had to have been living under a rock for the past five years to not know who Simon Cowell is. I didn't think I had the nerve to sing in front of the harshest man on television and, essentially, millions of American viewers. What if I didn't do well? What if I made a fool out of myself in there and let Mama down?

Finally, after two rounds of producers and hours of waiting, it was my turn. I was so nervous, I didn't even hear them call my number until my brother, Enrique, kicked my leg saying "C'mon you bum, let's go! It's your turn!"

My heart was pounding in my chest so loudly that I was certain Simon would comment on it. But he didn't.

It didn't even register that I was going to Hollywood until I walked out of that room, yellow sheet in hand, to cheers from my fellow contestants and the biggest hug of my life from my sobbing mother.

I'd made Mama proud.

-

**Laura Kellogg**

_Harrisburg__Pennsylvania_

My friend Janine wanted to audition for American Idol and asked me to go with her. I wanted to tell her that, at twenty-seven, she was too old for this, but of course I didn't say anything. I didn't want Janine to be angry with me.

Janine talked me into driving, because gas for my tiny Honda Civic is much less expensive than it is for her big SUV. Our bags would have fit better in her car, but I didn't think it was worth starting an argument over. She's probably right anyway.

I had to drive the whole way to New York City because Janine can't drive stick shift. That was okay, though, because she needed to rest up before her big audition. I really wish she _had _rested, though, instead of talking the whole ride. She kept asking me if I thought that she was good enough, and I didn't know how to answer that. The truth is, Janine really can't sing and I've heard her try to sing along with the radio enough times to know. I couldn't _tell _her that, though! She would have been so pissed!

When we finally got there, Janine told me that she wanted me to try out too. I really didn't want to, but if Janine thought that I could do it, who was I to say no? And besides, what are friends for? I would be a good friend and audition right alongside her.

I wasn't too upset when the producers told me that I wasn't going on to the judges, I was somewhat expecting it. They did say that I had a nice voice, though, and that I was on pitch for most of my song. I just wasn't vocally where an Idol needed to be. It's okay, they're probably right. After all, this is their job.

Janine was given the all clear to go on to Randy, Simon, and Paula. I didn't have the heart to tell her that she'll probably be featured as one of the bad, entertaining auditions. I'm too good of a friend for that.

-

**Sebastian Conlon**

_Brooklyn, New York_

Ask any self-respecting Brooklynite who their 'idol' is and they'll all give you the same answer: Sebastian fucking Conlon.

It only makes sense that I should conquer the rest of the country, and, unsurprisingly, those washed-up excuses for judges agree with me.

Fucking Simon Cowell says I have an attitude problem. Fuck yeah I do, and America is going to fucking love me.

**Daniel Wilford**  
_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

I'm different from all the other contestants, that, I can guarantee you. I'm different because I absolutely, completely, and without a doubt knew that I was going to close the door between the judges and myself with one of those beautiful sheets of yellow paper. I was going to Hollywood. It was as simple as that.

I'm sure that other contestants will say the same thing. "I'm going to Hollywood! I'm going to be in the top twelve! I'm the next American Idol!" And, yet, they're nervous. If they really knew, they wouldn't be nervous, would they?

For the first time in my life, I'm not nervous. I'm disgustingly paranoid about everything else, but not about my singing. It's the one thing that I'm completely sure of and, therefore, the one thing that doesn't scare me.

I know I'm good. I'm not saying that to be conceited or anything; I'm just saying it because it's a fact. I was always good. Ever since I enrolled at Point Park, I've gotten even better. And I know what I'm doing. I know what kind of songs the judges want to hear.

When I sang for the producers, I wasn't nervous. I was irritated by the fact that I had to prove myself twice before they'd even let me get to the judges. When they called my number to wait outside the judges' door, I was just bored and tired of waiting around. When I sang for three of the most famous faces on television, I didn't feel anything at all. I was doing what I did best, and I knew that they'd like me. And when I strolled out of that room, armed with one of those coveted yellow papers and the knowledge that I was going to Hollywood, all I felt was satisfied.

Right now, I'm walking down the street, and right now, I am nervous. Not because I don't know what's going to happen next in the competition or because I'm starting to think that maybe, just maybe, there's someone better than me out there. I'm nervous because now, I have to work up the courage to tell my mother that I'm dropping out of school and going to the other side of the country.

And that is definitely something that I should be nervous about.

-

**Louis Ballatt**  
_Okeechobee, Florida_

I actually expected to walk into my audition and be laughed at. Or at least be told, point blank, that I just wasn't Idol material and that I should give up immediately. I did _not_ expect Paula to stand up and wave in what seemed like a few hundred producers who then asked me to sing again. And I definitely didn't expect to walk out of that room with a ticket to Hollywood.

They told me I was a novelty, and I guess that I am. Not every Idol contestant died once.

Obviously, I didn't _stay_ dead. But it sure seemed like I was going to at the time. When I was around thirteen, my older brother crashed his car while driving me to a friend's house. He was fine. I wasn't. They rushed me to the hospital, I was in a coma for two days, then I flatlined for a good thirty seconds or so.

But, miraculously, I came back to the land of the living. Don't ask me how or why, but I did. And I was perfectly fine, too, besides the fact that I ended up losing my eye since the broken glass from the windshield severed my optic nerve.

Not that I'm complaining about a little thing like that. Hell, I'm just glad that I'm alive.

I don't usually go around publicizing my story, but when they asked me to tell them something interesting about myself, I blanked, and it was the only thing I could think of. Immediately, Randy, Simon, and Paula stopped looking like they were going to fall asleep or kill each other and really started listening.

I'm not stupid. I know that I don't have the best voice, and I know that I don't exactly look like an American Idol. The eye patch kind of destroys that image. And I know that the only reason I made it through is because they can sell me as some kind of wonder boy. "He should have died, but now he sings!" So I guess I'm kind of whoring myself out to corporate America by doing this show.

But I think I can live with that.

-

**Peter Jones**

_Austin__Texas_

I'm going to be on TV!

Shit, man, I'm gonna be on TV and it's gonna be _so _freakin' awesome!

Ryan came up to me while I was waiting cause I was practicing my dance moves because everyone knows I can't sing and I only tried out for this show cause I wanted to be on TV and now I am, so it's okay. But anyway, yeah, so Ryan came up to me and asked me if I think I'm the next American Idol and I was like "Sure, Ryan man! Piece of pie!"

And he asked me "Don't you mean 'piece of cake?'"

And I was like "No way, Ryan man! Piece of pie, cause man, could I go for some pie! You got any pie?"

And would you believe it? He got me some pie! I got me some true blue American Idol pie, man! Now that's just awesome. I'm gonna be on TV getting American Idol pie!

So, then I went in to see the judges and I was still eating Ryan's American Idol Pie so my mouth was kinda full when I got in there, but that's okay cause man, it was some _good _pie.

So, Simon was staring at me like 'what the fuck?' and Randy was like "What are you going to sing for us, man?"

And I was just like, "Shit, Randy man, can't you see my mouth is full?" but my mouth was full, so it just came out like "shhhhmmmmfffffullll."

So, once I swallowed, Randy asked me again what I was going to sing, and I told them I was going to do _Straight Up _with the original choreography, and Paula looked so excited I thought she was going to piss herself.

So, man, maybe I'm not the next American Idol. Because they laughed a lot and told me that I was a riot, but I couldn't sing for shit… or dance for that matter. But I don't really care, cause shit! I'm gonna be on TV! And I bet I'm the only person who ever got American Idol Pie. Beat that.

-

**Jack Kelly**

_Santa Fe__New Mexico_

It's a really long drive from Santa Fe to Los Angeles, twelve and a half hours to be exact. Twelve and a half hours I sat behind the wheel of my rusty old jeep wondering what the hell I was doing and if it was too late to turn around. Twelve and a half hours I sat alone, watching the road go by under my beat up tires, with doubts running through my mind and not even a radio to distract me.

I wished to God that I had brought someone; that I, like the thousands of other hopefuls milling around, had someone to talk to, to practice on…just someone to tell me that I'm as good as I think I am, that I'll have no problem making it to Hollywood.

No one from home knows that I was coming here in the first place or that I even sing at all. I sure as hell wasn't going to tell them. I can just imagine how they'd react and that's definitely not something that I want to deal with.

So I can handle being alone for now because it'll all be worth it in the end, because I _can _sing and I _will _make it to the top. And all those guys will know that Jack Kelly is more than the kid whose old man slit his mother's throat, or the poor kid who never really had a home. When they call my name, I'll saunter in there, Stetson sitting proudly on my head, and wow them. There's no going back now.

America, get ready for Jack Kelly.


	2. IB1

**Authors' Note:** Hey guys, sorry this took so long. It took a while to go over it with the betas (PS. lots of thanks to the girls who took the time to read it over for us). Quick note; the Anthony in this fic, as you've probably already figured out, is not Anthony Federov. We've got a completely different Miracle Boy. Anyway, many thanks to all the reviewers because you guys rule and we'd be too lazy to write without you. So keep those reviews coming and get us off our lazy asses.

* * *

**Idol Behavior**

**David Jacobs**_  
__**Los Angeles, **__**California**_

_This was supposed to be the best month of my life. I auditioned for American Idol! I made it to __Hollywood__! What aspiring singer __wouldn't_ love_ that?_

_  
Perhaps when that aspiring singer has to share his glory with his older sister, who, up until that point, had shown __no_ interest in singing whatsoever. Perhaps when the aspiring singer finds out that American Idol is probably only interested in him as half of a brother/sister duo. Perhaps when the aspiring singer finds that, despite his recent success, he's still "the middle child," the one that people tend to forget about, and that he's probably going to remain that way for the rest of his life.

_  
Now, believe me, this has still been a wonderful month. I get congratulatory cards and good luck cards every day in the mail, sometimes from people that I don't even know. My parents do pay more attention to me. Not much, though; an iota at best. And I still feel jealous every time I pick up a card that's addressed to Sarah._

_  
There's only a few days left, though. Saturday morning, Sarah and I are driving to one of the most elaborate, exorbitant hotels in __California__ to stay gratis for a weekend with the other hundred or so hopefuls that made it to __Hollywood__. After we've spent ample time getting to know each other and getting to know the procedures, we'll start performing again._

_  
With any luck, I won't be "half of the Jacobs team" any more. I won't even be "the middle child." I'll just be David Jacobs. Just me, by myself, working to accomplish something that I've always dreamed of doing._

_Without__ Sarah's shadow hovering over me._

--

David scrutinized the number on the door, then glanced back down at his room key. The number matched; he was finally at the right room.

"Thank God," he muttered. Although it had probably only been about fifteen minutes, he felt as though he'd wandered around the gargantuan hotel for hours. He quickly swiped the card through the lock on the door, and pushed it open.

His attempt at a polite greeting was cut off by the large pillow that crashed into his face.

For a few seconds, he simply sputtered and blinked as he stared at the room. It seemed like it had once been a decent-sized living area, nicely furnished with a sofa, a television, two arm chairs, and several pillows. However, the sofa had been upturned, feathers spilled out over the floor, and two boys - one short and scrawny, one taller with a strangely familiar cowboy hat - crouched behind the chairs and threw pillows at one another.

"What the _hell_!" David heard himself cry.

The shorter boy expertly dodged a pillow and flashed him a grin. "What's up, fuckwad? Join the game."

David gaped at them, "Stop it! if you break anything you're going to get charged for it, you know, and if you think that I'm going to help you pay then you-" he was cut off as another pillow- this one thrown by the cowboy- hit him square in the mouth.

"Nice shot, Jacky-boy!" the short, scrawny one cried, giving the cowboy a high five.

David gritted his teeth and ignored their snickers as he angrily tossed the pillow on the floor. "_What_ are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" the cowboy replied with an impish grin. "We're having a housewarming party."

"By destroying the room?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Only way to throw a party," the short one added with mock solemnity.

David sighed and glanced down at his room key. Maybe, just maybe, his key worked on more than one door and he was in the wrong room after all. But the numbers still matched. And, much to David's dismay, he spotted his luggage stacked in a corner next to several unfamiliar suitcases.

Damn.

"I think they expect us to be a little more mature than this, don't you?"

The two boys gaped at him, then glanced at each other.

"Jesus, what are you, like, forty?" the short one muttered, climbing to his feet and brushing a few stray feathers off of his more than slightly disgusting "Grab My Stick Shift for a Joy Ride" shirt.

"Great. I already feel like I'm going to end up being your surrogate parent, and I don't even know your names."

"Tell me a bedtime story, Grandpa. The one about how you lost your balls in World War II."

The cowboy rolled his eyes and snickered as the shorter one flopped down onto the sofa. He hopped to his feet, removed his hat, and held out his hand. "I'm Jack Kelly."

David eyed his hand warily before reaching out to shake it. "David Jacobs."

Jack nodded, grinned, and gestured to the boy on the couch. "That's Sebastian Conlon."

"... Sebastian?"

"Fuck off, douchebag."

David had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

"I've already decided his parents must've hated him at birth," Jack said, sprawling down on the couch next to Sebastian.

"Fuck you!" Sebastian whacked him in the face with a nearby couch cushion. "I was named after a fucking movie, okay?"

David snorted, "What, _The Little Mermaid_? You were named after a lobster?"

Jack laughed out loud and was rewarded with another cushion to the face, "Stop it, Conlon! That's starting to hurt."

"Not _The Little Mermaid, _Fuckhead," he said, ignoring Jack, "_The _fucking _Tempest_."

"I think you kind of look like a lobster," Jack continued, still laughing. "You're about the same size."

"At least I don't have fantasies about riding bareback."

And the pillows took to the air once again.

David ducked a few times as a stray one flew his way, but it was suddenly far more amusing than it had been five minutes ago.

"So, um... you two have been friends for a while?" he interjected in between the flying cushionrey.

"Nope," Sebastian replied, rolling behind the sofa.

"We just met about ten minutes ago," Jack added as he blocked a pillow with his forearm.

David found himself fighting a smile. He watched them for a few seconds more, then shrugged to himself, snatched up a pillow and hummed it in Sebastian's direction. Much to his surprise, it hit him directly in the face.

Jack raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Nice shot."

"Welcome to the twenty-first century, Grandpa," Sebastian commented as he tossed a slightly larger pillow back at David.

David didn't know how long they spent hurling insults and pillows across the room, but he did know that he was the first to stop. At the sound of the door swinging open, he turned his back on the battle to see who was coming in.

Jack didn't stop until he saw Sebastian's face. The shorter boy was staring at the door with a look of shock and complete amazement. So Jack followed his gaze to the person standing in the door.

The blond boy with the eyepatch who stood in the doorway suddenly glanced around nervously as complete silence fell over the room. "I... um, am I in the wrong place?"

Sebastian was the first to break the silence. "AAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHH!" He growled.

"Shut the fuck up, Sebastian!" David hissed, looking scandalized as Jack and Sebastian laughed and high fived, "You can't make fun of the handicapped like that!"

The kid rolled his eyes at the giggling pair, "Everyone who makes that joke thinks they're so fucking clever."

"That's because it's a good joke," Jack supplied.

David shot them both a glare.

"Oh, lighten up, Grandpa!" Spot shot back, "And here I thought you actually _might _be cool."

"The fact that I'm not named after a lobster makes me infinitely cooler than you."

"I'm not named after a fucking lobster, you fucking idiot!"

"You're named after a lobster?" The kid in the eyepatch asked, raising one blond eyebrow.

"_The _fucking _Little Mermaid _didn't even come out until after I was born, for Christ sake! If anything, the fucking lobster was named after _me!_"

For the second time, the room was silent and all eyes were on Sebastian. Jack was the first to laugh, and he quickly clapped one hand over his mouth to mask it. David was next, and before long, the three boys were on the floor laughing hysterically.

"Oh, fuck you all," Sebastian glowered. He made a point of flopping loudly back onto the couch and muttering about finding the remote, but the other three were too busy picking themselves off of the floor and wiping tears of laughter from their cheeks to even notice.

"But, seriously, sorry about that. Sebastian kind of has Tourette's. You can't hold it against him."

"Fuck you, Jacky-boy."

The kid with the eyepatch just grinned, turned one of the chairs over, and sank down into it. "It's okay. I'm used to it. I even laugh at the funny ones, but the pirate thing has just been _so_ fucking overdone the past few years." He turned to Sebastian, inquisitively. "Couldn't you have been a bit more creative?"

"Couldn't you have been less of a douchebag?"

"You called me a douchebag. I'm overcome with sorrow." He turned back towards Jack and David, still grinning. "I'm Louis."

"David. This is Jack and you know Sebastian."

"Hey, Louis, sorry about… you know…" Sebastian gestured to his left eye.

"Don't worry about it," Louis shrugged, "seriously, I'm used to it."

"Good 'cause since, you know, we're not doing anything until tomorrow, I was thinking maybe we could go see that new movie."

"What new movie?" David asked warily.

"That new pirate one. It's rated AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHH!'

Louis just smiled benignly. "You know, that kind of borders on the edge of funny, but then it kind of shrivels up and dies."

"Shut up, I'm fucking awesome. At least, that's what your mom said last night when I was done with her."

There was a short pause.

"My mom died," Louis said quietly, looking down at the floor.

Sebastian blinked. "Oh. Um... dude, I didn't know..."

Jack and David exchanged uncomfortable looks until Louis started to laugh. "I'm just shitting you. My mom's not dead."

"... you fucking _suck_! You almost got a fucking apology out of me, you dick!"

A pillow promptly zoomed across the room and whacked Louis upside the head.

The battle of the pillows, now with four people, dragged on for almost an hour until Sebastian threw the phone instead of a pillow and put a dent in the wall.

Then, pleased with the damage that they'd caused, the boys settled down to unpack.

* * *

David hadn't spoken to Sarah at all on the ride to the hotel. He'd avoided looking at her as they checked in and got their keys, and they didn't even say goodbye to each other when they parted ways to go to their separate rooms.

She was completely fine with that; if David wanted to be jealous and immature, that was his problem. She wasn't going to go out of her way to make amends if he wouldn't even have the decency to be happy for her. Whatever.

She slid her key into the slot, breathing out in relief when the light turned green. It looked as though she was the first one there; the lights were out and the room was quiet. Singing softly to herself, Sarah flicked on the overhead light switch and went to put her carryon on one of the beds.

"Turn off the fucking lights."

Sarah gasped and spun around frantically to see where the command had come from. A girl with blazing red hair was sitting on the couch glaring at her, extremely thin arms crossed over her chest.

"Did you not hear me? Turn. Off. The. Lights,"

Sarah faltered, glancing around, hoping that there was someone else in the room or that someone would walk in right behind her. After a few seconds, when it didn't seem that either was going to happen, she turned her attention back to the redhead.

"Look, um, it's a little bit too dark to see very well, and I don't want to trip over anything, so, it would-"

"You say that like I'm supposed to care. Turn them _off_, dumbfuck."

Sarah faltered again. Seeing no other option, she slowly lowered her bag to the ground and flicked the lights back off. She blinked a few times, letting her eyes get used to the darkness, then slowly began to make her way across the room, hand on the wall beside her for support.

"Can I ask why we have to have the lights off?"

"No. You can't."

She bristled, then literally bit down on her tongue to keep from saying anything. This girl didn't seem quite right in the head, and Sarah didn't want to get punched or stabbed or anything just because of one stupid remark.

Outside, a soft thump sounded, followed by a muffled voice. "Fucking _move_, bitches, the next Idol's coming through!"

The door flew open. "Whoa, where the fuck are all the lights?" Sarah winced as the lights suddenly reappeared.

The redhead shot the newcomer a murderous glare. "They're _off_, and they're going to _stay_ that way."

The new girl just laughed. "Fuck you," she said with a smile.

The redhead didn't respond. She got up and disappeared into the bathroom. Not surprisingly, the light never went on.

"What a fucking weirdo," the new girl muttered. "Is this your bed? Because if it is, we're sharing. There's no way I'm sleeping with that psychopath."

Sarah stared at the girl, stunned. "Um. Yeah, that's mine."

"Well, would you _mind _moving your shit out of the way so that I can put mine down?"

"Yeah… Um. Sure. No problem. My name is Sarah Jacobs, by the way."

The girl let out a condescending laugh, "I really don't give a shit what your name is. I'm not here to make friends."

Sarah stared again, then frowned deeply. "Look, we're stuck in the same room together for the weekend."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"I'm not asking you to be my goddamn friend. "I just want us to be at a point where we can tolerate each other without dealing out some serious injuries."

The other girl finished tossing Sarah's stuff on the floor, arranged her own, and looked at her with a hardened expression. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, she nodded.

"Okay. You haven't done anything to make me hate you yet, so for now, that's fine." She smiled, completely mirthlessly. "But I'm not here to _have a good time_ or to _try my very best_. I'm here to win this fucking thing, and I don't really see the point in getting buddy-buddy with bitches that will eventually lose to me, anyway. Are we cool, _Sarah Jacobs_?"

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. We are."

The girl's smile warmed, if only a tiny bit. "Good. Then I'm Mia Tortuolo, the next American fucking Idol."

"Good luck, then" Sarah said, raising her eyebrows in amusement. She figured it would be wise not to contradict the girl.

"With _my _talent, I don't need l-"

The rest of her sentence was cut off by the sound of the heavy door banging open.

"…luck," She finished, glaring at the small, grinning brunette who appeared in the doorway. "Who the fuck dressed _you_? Your little brother?"

"Hold that thought," the new addition said, dumping her dusty Yankees duffle on the previously immaculate couch. "I've had to piss since the changeover in Chicago."

"Fucking Christ," Mia said, as the girl bounced into the bathroom. "I hate her already."

"Why am I not surprised? You seem to hate everyone at first sight." Sarah shot back.

"Not really, just her."

"What about me?"

"You're not so bad." Mia shrugged."So, what do you think, should we go save her?" She asked, jerking her head in the direction of the bathroom.

"Nah," Sarah smiled back, feeling as though she finally had an ally in the room.

The two exchanged smirks, then craned their necks towards the bathroom.

"You think she'll kill her?"

"Probably not at first. She'll want to torture her first, draw it out-"

"Make it slow and painful."

"Exactly."

A minute later, the tiny brunette padded out of the bathroom, looking confused, but not frightened or angry. "Wow, what's wrong with her? She's glaring at me like I killed her cat." She shrugged and the confusion left her face, immediately replaced by a carefree grin. "Oh, well, I'm sure she'll lighten up. I'm gonna go find another bathroom." She bounced out the door, whistling softly, then suddenly stuck her head back into the room. "Totally forgot to introduce myself; sorry about that. I'm Paige, nice to meet you both." She offered them a tiny salute then headed off down the hallway.

Mia stared blankly at the door. "The happy hurts my brain."

"I'd rather happy and perky than Carrie over there in the bathroom."

"Point taken," Mia muttered, producing a pack of cigarettes from somewhere inside of her shirt. _Exactly_ where from, Sarah couldn't tell, since the shirt was so tight, it didn't seem to leave any room for hiding places. "You want?"

"I don't smoke."

"Pussy."

"You shouldn't either," she pointed to a blinking light on the ceiling. "Smoke detectors."

"Fuck that," Mia lit up, breathing in deeply and exhaling with a satisfied sigh. "Nothing like a little smoke in the lungs to relax before a performance."

"Mariah Carey gained three octaves when she stopped smoking, you know."

Mia eyed her warily, "Look, Sarah Jacobs, I like you. Don't fuck that up. Cut the PSA crap."

Sarah snorted, "Consider it cut. It's just that I would _hate _to see those cigarettes come between you and the title…"

"Seriously. Shut up."

Sarah grinned, grabbed her stuff, and tossed it back onto the bed next to Mia. She fought a snicker when Paige darted back into the room and started coughing.

"Okay, who lit up a cancer stick?" she choked out.

"That would be me."

"You want to put it out?"

"Let me think about it for a min- no."

Paige drew herself up as tall as she could - which wasn't very tall- and frowned. "Look, my dad died from cancer, okay? It's not pretty. And by smoking, you're pretty much asking for it. It's like standing in the middle of the highway and begging for an eighteen-wheeler to come slam into you."

Mia raised an eyebrow and flashed a fake smile. "I'll make a deal with you. You stop dressing like that gender-confused brat from _Bridge to Terebithia_, and I'll start pretending to give a shit about what you have to say."

Paige drew back, blinking. "... Okay, then. I think I'm going to go look around a bit. You two have fun. Hope you don't die."

"Wish I could say the same for you," Mia replied sweetly.

"The sprinklers better not go off."

Both girls turned towards the bathroom. The redhead was standing in the doorway, hands on her narrow hips.

"Well, well, well, look who's decided to grace us with her presence," Mia snarked, blowing smoke in the redhead's direction.

"Seriously, I don't like water."

"I'm not surprised," Sarah said, "Do you like _anything_"?

"No," the girl replied, "Not really."

"Aren't there any fucking ashtrays in here?" Mia held out the filter of her cigarette.

"Of course there aren't," the redhead rolled her eyes, "they rented us non-smoking rooms. Singers aren't supposed to smoke."

"Fuck them," Mia said, opening up the drawer of the bedside table and putting out her cigarette on the Holy Bible.

Sarah cleared her throat. "I'm Sarah and this is Mia," she said, trying one more time to be polite to the redhead, "and the one who just left was Paige."

The redhead rolled her eyes. "Good for you."

Sarah glanced at Mia, who had begun rummaging through Paige's bag. "Well, um... do you have a name?"

"No," she replied flatly. "When my people left me on this planet, I didn't have a name, and I plan to keep it that way." Sarah blinked. "Of _course_ I have a name, you fucking _moron_. What kind of a stupid question is that?"

"... so, what _is_ your name?"

The redhead glared, then let out an exasperated sigh. "It's Anna, not that it's any of your goddamn business. Anna Lewis. Now, leave the fucking cigarettes alone, turn the lights off, and stop being so fucking loud and annoying." She stalked back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Mia raised an eyebrow and tossed Paige's bag carelessly on the floor. "She's fucking creepy."

Sarah nodded. "And she's really fucking happy. And we're stuck with them both."

"... I think I'm gonna go get wasted tonight."

"I think I'll come with you."

* * *

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nick knew that hotboxing the expensive hotel room that he wasn't even paying for within the first few hours of entry was _not _a good idea; the American Idol bigshots could just walk in any second and bust them all and then all of their dreams would be over, but at the moment, he just couldn't bring himself to care.

"This is some _really _good shit," Anthony said, taking a hit from the bowl they were passing around. "Really, _really _good shit. Really."

Nick giggled, "Really?"

"Of course it is," Oscar responded haughtily, "Oscar Delancey doesn't get anything _but _the best."

"Give it here!" Nick hit Anthony lightly on the arm.

"Wait your fucking turn!" Anthony shoved him back.

"Aaaaaaanthony, come ooooooon!"

"Nick, shut up! You're being so loud, you're gonna get us caught!" Daniel's eyes darted nervously around the room, "Shit, shit, shit! We're so fucking dead! What do you think will happen if they catch us? Do you think they'll kick us out? What if they call the police? We could spend the rest of our lives in jail! Shit, you guys, I don't want to go to-"

"Someone shut that kid up," Oscar growled, "Jesus, you'd think a little weed would calm him down, not make him more paranoid than he was before."

"I didn't think it was _possible_ for him to be more paranoid than he was before," Anthony muttered, helping himself to another hit. Oscar nodded in agreement.

"Anthony, come on, gimmeeeeee."

"You are _such_ a whiny little bitch, Nick."

"Do they have cameras in these rooms? Like, surveillance cameras?" Daniel asked suddenly, wide-eyed. He drew his knees up to his chest and locked his arms around them as he rocked back and forth. "There are cameras in here, aren't they?"

Anthony and Oscar smirked at each other as Nick poked helplessly at Anthony's arm.

"Yeah, Dan, there are definitely cameras in here," Oscar replied solemnly.

"Oh, God, I fucking _knew_ it, they're _watching_ us..."

"There's one right over there," Anthony added.

"Where!"

"In the clock. They hid it in the clock."

Oscar choked back a snicker as the clock suddenly flew past his head. "Dude, there's one in the lamp, too."

"_Oh, my fucking God!"_

The lamp crashed to the floor, shattering everywhere.

"Danny, breaking the cameras won't do anything," Nick said, trying desperately to keep from laughing, "it only triggers the silent alarms." He turned to Anthony and glared at him, "Give me the fucking bowl already! You've had more than anyone!"

"Hang on," Anthony said, "This one's almost gone. I'll finish it and then repack it for you."

"You fucking better," Nick pouted.

"Don't any of you fucking care that we're going to jail?" Daniel cried, "This is so illegal!"

"Fucking _Christ_, kid! Shut up and clean up the broken glass on the floor before one of us cuts ourselves." Oscar rubbed his temples, "You're ruining my high."

"But don't actually touch the glass," Anthony warned. "It's laced with a flesh-eating virus. If you cut yourself, it'll melt away at your skin."

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmy_god_-"

"This is fun," Nick giggled as Daniel stumbled past him with a makeshift broom made of a curtain rod and a tightly-wound black sweatshirt.

"Just because he makes you feel smart," Anthony muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Bitch, that fucking better _not_ be my AC/DC sweatshirt!" Oscar bellowed, pointing to the sweatshirt at the end of Daniel's "broom."

"It's _not_, okay?" Daniel said and set to work sweeping up the shards of glass that was once the lamp. "Who's going to pay for this anyway?"

"You are. You broke it," Anthony pointed out.

"Only because _your _pot made me think that there was a camera in it! Oh my god! It doesn't matter that there's no camera… we're gonna be kicked out for trashing the place! And… and… oh my god, what if they press charges?"

"We'll deal with that if we have to. Keep sweeping and keep your mouth shut," Oscar sighed loudly, "Who the fuck are you calling?"

"My girlfriend. But," Nick frowned and fiddled with the cell phone he'd produced from somewhere, "I can't find her number in here."

"That's because it's _my _phone, dumbass," Oscar grabbed his phone back.

"Oh."

"_You_ have a girlfriend?" Anthony asked incredulously. Nick grinned proudly and nodded.

"Yep."

"I thought you were gay."

Nick's jaw dropped in disbelief. "Are you fucking _serious_?"

"Yeah. Totally."

"Why the hell would you think that?" he demanded over Daniel's mutters of "shit, shit, shit."

Anthony shrugged. "You seemed queer to me."

"Takes one to know one," Nick replied in a voice that bordered on pouty.

"Actually, yeah, it does," Anthony said with a tiny smile.

Oscar and Nick stared at him. Daniel ignored everyone and continued to gingerly pick up the larger pieces of glass.

"You're gay?"

"I'm gay. Anybody got a problem with that?"

Oscar blinked, then let out a loud laugh. "You're not the only queer in this room, my friend."

"You, too?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Are you guys gonna, like... grope me?" Nick questioned.

"Nah. We're gonna grope Daniel."

Daniel dropped a piece of glass. "... what?"

"We're gay," Anthony said nonchalantly.

"And we're going to grope you," Oscar added, lazily searching through the sofa cushions for the remote.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_!" Daniel shrieked.

"Hey wait, what's wrong with me?" Nick whined.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Why would you grope _him _over _me_? I'm so much hotter! I mean just look at these abs!"

"Nick, save it for your girlfriend,"

"Fuck, Anthony, the boy's high as a kite and wants to get naked. Don't you dare stop him."

"Ew, _gross_! That's going to be on camera, you know! Everyone's going to watch it and then they'll kick you out!"

"Daniel, there _are _no cameras."

"How do _you _know?"

"Because I'm God."

"…seriously?"

"Nick, stop talking and take your shirt off."

"Yeah. I command it."

"And he's God, remember?"

Anthony and Oscar calmly sat back and watched Nick remove most of his clothing. They watched Daniel scurry around the room like a fussy housewife, checking for cameras and searching for a vacuum to clean up the rest of the glass. Then, they turned to each other and smiled.

"This rules."

"It sure as shit does."

"Let me rephrase that. _We_ rule."

"Fuck yeah, we do."

They hit their Dasani bottles together in a mock toast and smirked.


End file.
